The Omniversal Vagrant

The cold, damp earth was my first sensation upon waking. My entire body screamed in protest, each muscle fiber feeling torn and reknitted with rusty wire. The Universal Flow, potent as it was, exacted a brutal toll. It wasn't just physical exhaustion; it was a deeper drain, a brief glimpse into the boundless power I once wielded, only to have it ripped away, leaving my mortal shell reeling from the sheer incongruity.

I tried to summon it again, that familiar surge, but it was like trying to draw water from a dry well. My body simply couldn't support it. The Universal Flow had reduced to a mere whisper, a faint echo of its former glory. My current mortal frame was utterly incapable of channeling anything from such a superior source. My peak existence, the void beyond thought—those concepts were still locked away, too vast for my current mortal mind to grasp, like trying to hold an ocean in a thimble. I was a mere mortal, bound by this world's rules, a speck in its intricate destiny. I couldn't simply override its laws with a thought, as I might have once. I had to climb, meticulously, painstakingly.

*This is the price of rebirth,* I mused, pushing myself up from the cramped burrow. My past arrogance, my reliance on overwhelming force, was a luxury I could no longer afford. This new beginning demanded caution, strategy, and an unwavering will to endure the indignity of starting from absolute zero.

My hunger was back, sharper than before. My tattered clothes were even dirtier. But my mind, though weary, was clear. The System remained quiet, likely in a low-power state, and the Espejo was dull, its surface devoid of any shimmer. They too needed time to recover from such a violent expenditure.

My "vagabond" phase had served its purpose. For weeks, I had roamed the city's underbelly, observing, learning, and testing the waters without revealing my true identity as a son of the Luo family. Now, it was time to return to my assigned role.

The Luo family manor was a sprawling, if somewhat faded, complex of courtyards and traditional Murim architecture. My father, Luo Jin, was a respected but not particularly powerful elder in the city's Murim circles. My mother, Luo Mei, moved with a quiet grace, her eyes holding a depth that always hinted at secrets, a mystery I knew I couldn't unravel yet. My older brother, Luo Feng, was the family's pride, a talented cultivator. My two younger sisters, Luo Li and Luo Yun, were still children, full of innocent energy. Grandparents and numerous cousins, uncles, and aunts from my father's side filled the manor, a constant hum of activity.

My own status within this family was... negligible. I, Neron, was the son with the poorest talent, my meridians seemingly weaker than even the lowliest servants. They barely acknowledged my presence, often looking through me as if I were a ghost. Even the maids, bustling about their duties, treated me with a polite indifference that stung more than outright disdain. It was a stark contrast to the reverence I once commanded, a constant reminder of my current limitations.

My mornings began before dawn. While the rest of the manor slept, I slipped out to the secluded forest just beyond the city's outskirts. Here, the Espejo was my silent tutor. I couldn't use external Qi, or any of the grand powers of my past. My cultivation was limited to internal energy, the slow, arduous process of refining what little Qi my body could produce. But my past life's knowledge, my inherent talent, and the "luck of the Emperor's country" that somehow clung to me, gave me an unparalleled advantage. I didn't need to rediscover the path; I just needed to walk it again, from the very beginning.

I focused the Espejo on the subtle movements of the wind through the leaves, the flow of water in a hidden stream, the way a predator moved through the undergrowth. With its guidance, I began to modify my breathing, my posture, my very way of moving. It wasn't about martial forms, not yet. It was about becoming one with my environment, adapting my body to absorb the Murim's natural energies, even without unlocked meridians. My modified Turtle Technique, born from a despised remnant, was my foundation. It wasn't just defense; it was a way of sensing, of flowing, of becoming as unyielding as ancient earth. I'd spend hours, mimicking the slow, deliberate expansion and contraction of a tree root, the silent, patient stalk of a wild cat. The Espejo would highlight the subtle energy pathways, showing me how to coax even the faintest internal Qi from my unyielding meridians. The process was agonizingly slow, a stark contrast to the effortless cultivation of my past, but each tiny improvement felt like a monumental victory.

During the day, my duties as a "cleaner" within the family manor and sometimes, the city streets, continued. I swept courtyards, polished ancient wooden beams, and carried heavy buckets of water. It was menial labor, but I embraced it. My movements, honed by my forest training, were precise, almost graceful.

"Have you seen Neron sweep lately?" I overheard one of my cousins, Luo Ming, say to another, Luo Xia, as I passed by, broom in hand. "He moves like he's practicing a sword form. It's... odd for someone so talentless."

Luo Xia snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, Ming. It's just sweeping. He's always been a bit peculiar. Probably just trying to look busy."

Their words, dismissive as they were, didn't sting. They were simply observations from those who couldn't see beyond the surface. It was a useful perception. My "cleaning" was a form of cultivation, a way to hone my movements, my awareness, and to remain invisible. It was my silent protest against the Murim's limitations.

Evenings in the Luo manor were a cacophony of family life. My father, Luo Jin, would often sit in the main hall, discussing clan affairs with his brothers, their voices a low rumble. "The Demonic League is stirring again in the south," I heard him say one night. "The Righteous Sect is calling for more recruits. Elder Han's birthday celebration will be a chance to gauge the mood of the other clans."

My mother, Luo Mei, would oversee the younger children, her movements quiet, her presence calming. Sometimes, I'd catch her gazing out at the night sky, a wistful, almost melancholic expression on her face. A hint of the mystery she held, perhaps.

My younger siblings, Luo Li and Luo Yun, would often chase each other through the courtyards, their laughter echoing. Luo Feng, my older brother, would be in the training grounds, his sword whistling through the air, his movements powerful and confident. He was the golden child, the family's hope. I watched them all, a detached observer, yet a part of their daily rhythm.

My eyes, however, were often drawn to the prominent young ladies from other great families, whom I occasionally saw during my city duties or when they visited our manor for social calls. They were the rising stars, the future pillars of the Murim.

One afternoon, while sweeping the main street near the Azure Sky Branch academy, I saw Lady Lin. She was engaged in a heated debate with a male disciple, her voice firm, her posture unyielding. "Duty comes before personal glory, Brother Jian!" she declared, her eyes blazing with conviction. "The sect's stability ensures the nation's peace." She was a force of nature, driven by an almost rigid sense of righteousness. Her dedication was admirable, but her unyielding nature might also be her greatest weakness.

Later, I saw Miss Chen, strolling through the bustling market with a group of friends, her laughter like wind chimes. She exuded an enchanting charm, her movements fluid and graceful. She stopped at a stall, examining a delicate hairpin, her expression thoughtful. "This would look lovely on Sister Li," she said, her voice soft, yet with an underlying strength. "It's subtle, but its craftsmanship speaks volumes." She was a master of soft power, her allure a deceptive veil over a sharp mind. She seemed to effortlessly navigate social circles, a skill I would need to cultivate.

And then there was Young Lady Xiao. I found her often in the city's quieter corners, near the ancient library or a secluded garden, her nose buried in a scroll. She was a scholar, her mind a labyrinth of ancient diagrams and esoteric knowledge. One day, I saw her tracing patterns in the dust with her finger, muttering to herself. "The flow of Qi in a human body is like the currents of a river," she whispered, her brow furrowed in concentration. "But what happens when the river meets an unseen dam? Does it overflow, or does it find a new path?" She embodied a profound, almost ethereal wisdom, an enigma that few dared to approach. Her scholarly pursuits were her fortress, her escape from the mundane.

They were all so different, each a unique star in the Murim's sky. They saw me as a simple cleaner, a talentless son of a minor clan, a part of the background. They had no reason to pay attention to me. Their dreams were of Murim glory, of upholding their sects and families, their eyes fixed on the Righteous Sect's ideals. They were too focused on their own paths to notice the silent shadow moving among them.

"Did you hear?" I heard a servant whisper in the kitchen one morning. "Elder Han's birthday celebration is next month. The invitations are going out. Even the Luo family will be there."

"Oh, it'll be grand!" another replied. "All the young talents from the major clans will gather. A real spectacle."

A ceremony. A gathering. A perfect opportunity. I would be there, a silent observer in the vast hall, just another member of the Luo clan. They, the prominent young ladies, would be focused on their own ambitions, their own circles. They wouldn't notice a talentless son. But I would be watching. I would listen. I would learn.

My nights, when I could slip away unnoticed, were dedicated to small, dangerous missions. There were always bandit camps on the outskirts, small groups of rogue cultivators preying on travelers. They were not powerful, but they were dangerous enough for my current state. I needed resources, and the System's rewards for eliminating them were my only way to acquire the rare herbs and scroll fragments needed to truly unlock the Turtle Technique's hidden potential, and perhaps, eventually, to begin unlocking my meridians.

I moved like a phantom through the forest, my modified Turtle Technique allowing me to blend with the shadows, to strike with surprising force and then vanish. My battle power was unknown, even to myself, but it was growing. The bandits, bewildered, spoke of a "ghost of the forest," a silent reaper who left behind only headless corpses.

The Murim was a complex web, and my current strength was negligible compared to the true powers that lurked in the shadows, the Divine-Level Overlords. I couldn't just brute force my way through. The path to true reality was long, fraught with dangers where my powers might fail. But I had my knowledge, my Espejo, my System, and an unyielding will. I would rise in this Murim, protect those I came to care for, and ultimately, break through the layers of illusion to find the universe that was truly, undeniably real. The realms beyond, the true nature of existence—I would limit my thoughts on them for now, focusing on the immediate. With confidence, I knew I could improve in this Murim and protect those I loved. The ascent would be slow, deliberate, and fraught with peril, but I would not yield.